


Ruby Woo

by cuttooth



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Informed by Asexuality, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Kink, Prompt Fill, The MagnACE Archives, lipstick kink, sex neutral ace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21828832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttooth/pseuds/cuttooth
Summary: “You want me to...wear lipstick for you?” Jon’s tone is soft. Martin risks a glance at him, and it’s just Jon as always, a little curious furrow between his eyebrows as he tries to figure out if this is some sex thing he hasn’t understood.“Yeah,” says Martin. “It’s just - you looked so lovely.”“Oh,” Jon says, and it’s his turn to look away. His voice is husky when he says: “Of course I will. Of course.”*For the prompt: Jon was wild at uni; Martin finds a photo of him wearing lipstick and CANNOT stop thinking about it.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 61
Kudos: 807
Collections: The MagnACE Archives (NSFW & Kink)





	Ruby Woo

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for a prompt at [The MagnACE Archives](https://the-magnace-archives.dreamwidth.org/), which you should all check out and add to! 
> 
> Title is from one of the most iconic red lipstick shades to ever exist, which Jon could _totally_ rock!

The photo comes fluttering out of a dog eared copy of _The Man In The High Castle_ while they’re unpacking a box of Jon’s old books. Martin grabs it out of the air, still balancing a stack of Greek plays in his other hand, and turns it over to look.

It’s a dark polaroid, taken in a dimly lit pub. Martin recognizes Jon, desperately young and wearing a relaxed smile, his arm slung around Georgie’s shoulder. The camera flash catches in the corners of their eyes, on the bangles at Georgie’s wrists, on the - Martin’s breath catches - on the bright red color slicking Jon’s parted lips. Martin feels his face go hot. 

“What is that?” Jon asks, craning his neck to look, then: “Oh. Right. Probably should have never let Georgie convince me to go out like that, eh?” He sounds a little embarrassed but mostly nostalgic. 

“No, it - it suits you,” says Martin. He can hear his voice sounding breathless and a few notes too high. Jon gives him a surprised look, eyebrows raised. 

“Do you think so?” 

“Yeah. A, uh, a lot.” 

Jon’s expression is pleased and embarrassed, his cheeks reddening. He plucks the photo from Martin’s hand, and tucks it into his pocket. Martin resists the urge to protest. There’s no reason why he should want a random photograph from Jon’s uni days. No reason at all. 

“Okay?” Jon asks, his lips tilting up curiously. Martin stares at them. 

“Fine,” he says, and keeps shelving books. 

*

He can’t stop thinking about it, is the thing. It isn’t something Martin’s ever thought about before, never fantasized about lips glossy and vibrant with color. But the sight lingers in his mind. 

It’s not a sexual thing, even. There was just something so wild and wanton about Jon in the photograph, his eyes hazy and bright, the loose curve of his smile, beautifully garish. It makes Martin want to know that young, untroubled version of Jon. (Not that he would trade his Jon for anything, careworn and solemn, graying hair and the little lines of worry around his mouth.) 

But still, he can’t stop _thinking_ about it. 

They’re curled on the sofa one evening, supposedly watching a documentary. Jon is dozing through it, however, sprawled over Martin’s chest. It’s lovely until Martin has to get up and pee, and he shakes Jon gently awake, murmuring his name. 

Jon’s eyes flutter open and he licks his lips, leaves them wet and slightly parted as he shakes himself awake. Martin can’t help it. He bends and kisses Jon, soft and lingering, Jon’s mouth pliant beneath his. Jon sighs into his mouth, and smiles at him when he sits back up.

“What was that for?” he asks, his voice rusty with sleep. Martin feels himself flush. He bites his own lip uncertainly. 

“The - that photo,” he says. “Of you and Georgie, that we found the other day. Would you…” he looks away, embarrassed. “Would you do that for me?”

“You want me to...wear lipstick for you?” Jon’s tone is soft. Martin risks a glance at him, and it’s just Jon as always, a little curious furrow between his eyebrows as he tries to figure out if this is some sex thing he hasn’t understood. 

“Yeah,” says Martin. “It’s just - you looked so lovely.” 

“Oh,” Jon says, and it’s his turn to look away. His voice is husky when he says: “Of course I will. Of course.” 

*

Jon is waiting in the living room when Martin gets home from his poetry group the next night. Standing perfectly still the way cats do when they’re nervous and waiting to see what will happen next, his eyes bright and his mouth…

Martin’s breath escapes him, his heart thumping hard in his chest. The color Jon’s wearing isn’t the same as in the photograph; it’s darker, a rich, deep crimson shining on the uncertain curve of his lips. 

“Wow,” he says, eloquently. Jon’s lips tilt up a little further, a little less hesitant. 

“Do you like it?”

Martin stares. He feels heat crawling up his neck. 

“The...the girl at Boots said this shade was good with my skin tone,” Jon continues. Martin nods helplessly.

“Yeah…” he breathes. He takes a step towards Jon. 

“Is it, umm, is it okay?” 

“It’s amazing,” says Martin. His heart is still pounding. “You look... you’re gorgeous.” 

Spots of color flush the high planes of Jon’s cheeks, a fainter reflection of the deep red slicking his mouth. 

“I’m glad you like it,” he says, then, his tone dropping to something throaty and ardent: “Come here.”

Martin does, and Jon’s arms wind around his neck. This close, there’s a sweet, faintly waxy scent, like artificial strawberry. The color picks out the sharp bow of Jon’s upper lip, the plump swell beneath it. He smiles, and presses a soft kiss to Martin’s cheek. Martin feels the slight, lingering stickiness of it, marking his skin. Jon’s lips touch his jaw, his throat, and Martin tips his head to one side to let them. 

“Let’s sit down,” Jon breathes into his ear, and Martin nods wordlessly. Jon’s dark red mouth curves into a smile, and he urges Martin towards the sofa. He goes eagerly, lets Jon push him down and straddle his thighs. Martin brings his hands up to rest on Jon’s waist, feeling the warmth of Jon’s skin where his t-shirt is riding up. Jon looks wanton and wild as he did in that photograph, his eyes dark and shining, his red lips wickedly curled, his cheeks flushed. 

“You’re beautiful,” Martin tells him, his voice shaky. Jon doesn’t answer, just kisses Martin’s face again, his neck, his hands grasping Martin’s biceps. He kisses Martin’s mouth slowly, carefully, lips barely moving against his, and it’s like no kiss Martin’s ever had before. Supple and slick and deeply, painfully intimate, sharing each other’s breath. Martin is light headed and longing, wants nothing else but Jon’s warmth against him, his sweet-sticky lips on Martin’s. When Jon finally pulls away he hears himself make a low, unhappy noise that he didn’t intend, but he’s too lost to even be embarrassed, fisting his hands in Jon’s t-shirt, eyes fixed on the shining curve of his mouth. 

“Take off your shirt,” Jon orders quietly, and Martin does, his hands trembling with eagerness. Jon rests his hands, warm and dry, on Martin’s shoulders, and leans down to kiss the base of his throat. Martin gives a quiet whimper as Jon’s lips press to the sensitive skin there, a shiver running through him. Jon laughs, pleased, and kisses the same spot again. 

He moves slowly, lazily, kisses down over Martin’s collarbone, his chest, pressing sweet, colorful kisses everywhere he can reach. Jon slides down in Martin’s lap, kisses over his ribs, his belly, petting up his sides, over his arms and shoulders. Martin’s skin is goosebumping all over beneath the gentle, relentless assault. He feels drunk with it, the warm weight of Jon pressed against him, flashes of dark eyes and red lips, the utter intensity of Jon’s attention fixed on him. 

It goes on for what feels like a long time, endless and honeyed, and when Jon finally sits back up, Martin is trembling, oversensitized, every inch of his skin alive with those gentle kisses. Jon looks a little overwhelmed himself, the lipstick smeared around his mouth, his eyes shining with satisfaction. 

“Look at how pretty you are,” Jon murmurs. Martin glances down at himself, his torso adorned with dozens of kisses, smudged and vibrant marks of Jon’s affection. It makes something warm and precious unfold in his chest. He lifts his hand to Jon’s cheek, and Jon covers it with his own, presses a kiss into the center of Martin’s palm, desperately tender. 

“That was lovely,” says Martin, then: _“You’re_ lovely,” and Jon smiles at him, soft and happy. 

“Maybe I’ll wear it out, next time.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me [@cuttoothed](https://cuttoothed.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
